


we could be something beautiful

by S_Hylor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Dating, Developing Relationship, M/M, Paparazzi, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/S_Hylor
Summary: When genius, billionaire, play boy Tony Stark very publically asks him out, Steve says yes because he doesn't want to be the man to turn down Tony Stark on national television. For the life of him he can't understand why someone like Tony Stark would want to go out with someone like him.He's wholly unprepared for what dating Tony entails, especially the media attention.The media, it seems, can't figure out what Tony sees in him either.





	we could be something beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mozzarella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/gifts).



> Took this as a pinch hit for Mozzarella's Stony Loves Steve assignment and picked the prompt: _AU where playboy billionaire Tony Stark very publicly and openly asks skinny scruffy poor artist Steve Rogers out on a date. Steve thinks it’s all a big joke but soon enjoys the attention anyway, increasingly amused by Tony Stark’s over the top attempts at wooing him while also realising he’s got a good heart under all that rich guy bluster. Steve’s still pretty insecure about actually being attractive, though, and it doesn’t help that paparazzi and social media are now scrutinising him like crazy and questioning why Tony Stark is so into him. Tony makes it his personal mission to make Steve (and everyone else) realise just how truly special this skinny kid from Brooklyn really is._
> 
> It just seemed to be made for me, and I was unable to resist. I just really hope that I did it justice. 
> 
> Thanks to [SirSapling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSapling) for the cheer-reading and handholding through this fic. Thanks to [FestiveFerret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret) for the beta work, cheer-reading and plot assistance. I'd still be very much stressing out about this, and probably not finished without your help.

The size of the crowd outside the building nearly puts Steve off as he approaches the StarkTech store. Through the large glass window, he can see the crowd extends inside the store as well, people milling around between the stands, concentrated towards the front of the store. There are a few vans parked outside, television station logos on the side, people toting cameras and boom microphones standing on the footpath around what looks like it is meant to be some sort of a makeshift stage.

Steve falters, pausing at the curb, one foot on the footpath, the other still on the road, clutching the strap of his art case as it knocks against his hip. There are too many people, and obviously something is going on. He should turn around and come back some other time. Except he thinks about his phone, a heavy weight in his pocket, and the camera on it that hasn’t been focussing properly since it fell out of his bag the day before. It being his only camera, he kind of needs it to work for the art assignment due the following week. He can’t afford to put off fixing it any longer.

That thought in mind, he squares his shoulders and starts forward towards the StarkTech building again. Trying to weave his way through the people milling around the front of the store is a nightmare; he gets his feet stepped on and his art case gets knocked by elbows, so he holds it tight to his side, worried that it’ll get damaged. When he finally gets into the store, it doesn’t get any better, people keep glaring at him when he asks if he can move past them.

“Excuse me,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice up so that the people around can hear him.

“Hang on, dude, you can’t just push in,” someone snaps back at him, deliberately standing in his way.

Tilting his head back, Steve makes eye contact with the man in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to push in. I’m trying to get to the tech support desk.”

The man crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at him. “Likely story. I’ve been waiting in line for almost two hours. You can’t just come along and push in in front of me.”

Glaring back, Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it up to show the cracked screen to the man in his way. “Look, I’m just here to try and get this fixed. I’m not here for whatever the hell is going on.”

Before the man has a chance to reply, someone else pushes their way into the conversation, plucking Steve’s phone out of his hand. “Wow, I haven’t seen one of these still in use for at least a year.”

Jerking around to face the new comer, Steve reaches out to snatch his phone back, only to come face to face with none other than Tony Stark himself. “Uh.”

Tony Stark grins at him from behind a pair of sunglasses, holding the phone and twirling it between his fingers as though he’s studying it from all angles. “I must say, it’s great to see people appreciating the classics from time to time. Are you here for an upgrade?”

“No.” He bites the word off short, a little offended that anyone would even suggest he upgrade, there is nothing wrong with the phone he has. Except for a few bumps and scratches and a camera that won’t focus. “I’m here to get this fixed. The camera isn’t working.”

Tony Stark arches an eyebrow, tugging his sunglasses off and gripping one arm between his teeth as he squints at the phone more closely. “Any idea why it might not be working?”

“I, uh, dropped it. And it won’t focus properly,” Steve admits, feeling his face get hot as the focus of the people around them starts to settle on him. “Can I have my phone back, Mr. Stark?”

Humming distractedly, Tony Stark keeps looking at the phone for another few seconds before a well dressed woman with red hair taps him on the shoulder, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. He nods, then shifts his attention back to Steve, holding the phone out. “It should be an easy fix, but you’re going to have a hard time getting it done today, I’m afraid. We’re pretty busy with the new launch today.”

Taking the phone back, Steve’s stomach drops; he really can’t afford any more delays in his project. “Oh, uh, thanks, I guess. Good luck with the launch.”

He starts the difficult process of turning around, trying to keep his art case from knocking into anyone as he does. He’s attempting to manoeuvre his way back through the crowd to the door when he hears someone calling out behind him.

“Hey, cute stuff with the Mark I phone.”

He freezes in place, glancing over his shoulder to see the crowd parting as Tony Stark weaves his way through them. He’s got a box tucked under his arm and a phone in his hand when he stops. Turning around slowly, Steve feels all too aware of how close Tony Stark is standing to him, and how far away everyone else suddenly seems, like a bubble has formed around them.

Grinning at him, Tony Stark bundles the box and the phone together and pushes them towards him. “Here, for customer loyalty. An upgrade. I think you’ll find the camera on this is even better than the one in the Mark I.”

On reflex he takes the phone and box that Tony Stark hands to him, his brain not really catching up with what’s going on until they’re in his hands and he’s looking down at the sleek lines of the new phone. He blinks a few times at it, eyes focusing on the camera specs written on the side of the box, along with all the other information, and his grip tightens momentarily, because he’d been eyeing off the later models on the Stark Phone for a long time, knowing he’d never afford one in a million years. That thought turning sour in his throat, he holds the phone back out towards Tony Stark. “I can’t afford this, Mr Stark.”

Tony Stark waves a hand dismissively, refusing to accept the Mark VII back, tipping his sunglasses down his nose a fraction, he winks at Steve over the top of them. “Not to worry, cute stuff, it’s free of charge. Though if you want to make it up to me, you could always go out to dinner with me. Does tomorrow night work for you?”

“Uh.” Steve’s sure he hasn’t heard right, but then he becomes acutely aware that everyone around them has their phones out, trained on him and Tony Stark. Tony Stark, who he thinks just asked him out. Tony Stark, brilliant, billionaire, king of the tech world, and notorious playboy, just asked him out. In the middle of a very attentive crowd of people, no less. He can feel his face heating up even more, cheeks burning under the attention, hoping the ground will just open up and swallow him whole. Opening his mouth, nothing comes out, so he snaps it closed again, feeling his teeth clack together. The cool, confident look on Tony Stark’s face starts to morph into something else, the all too familiar media smile that is all sharp corners and lines, and it makes Steve feel terrible, though he can’t really explain why.

There’s a TV camera and a boom mic moving closer, and the last thing he wants is to be on the news as the guy who turned down Tony Stark. Sucking in a deep breath, he nods. “I’ve got nothing on. Tomorrow night. I mean, I’d love to.”

If his hands weren’t full, he would punch himself in the teeth. He’d _love to,_ seriously, what was wrong with him?

Before he can stress about it for too long, Tony Stark is smiling at him again, the corners of his eyes crinkling, making his features look softer, the smile more real. He opens his mouth to say something just as he gets another tap on the shoulder and the same woman from before whispers in his ear. Nodding, he flashes another smile at Steve, sharper than before, more media ready. “Well, cute stuff, my number is on the phone if you need to get in touch with me, and once this circus is over, I’ll give you a call, work out something for tomorrow night. Looking forward to it.”

With another wink, Tony Stark disappears back into the crowd, and Steve is left standing there with a brand new phone in his hands and a whole throng of people surrounding him with eyes and cameras trained on him. Someone with a microphone starts pushing through the crowd towards him, and that’s all the incentive he needs to disappear into the crowd and get out of there.

  


+++

  


The following night feels surreal. The whole past twenty four hours do; Steve’s half convinced he’s accidentally stumbled into someone else’s life, feeling like a complete imposter. Tony Stark— _please call me Tony_ —had called him the night before to discuss their date, telling Steve the time and restaurant where to meet.

Which is how he finds himself standing out on the footpath in front of a restaurant, feeling entirely under-dressed and out of his depth. He glances down at the blue button-up shirt he’s wearing, the black slacks he’d carefully ironed creases into; they’re his best clothes. Bucky and Nat both assured him he looked good, that the colour brought out his eyes, but he finds himself looking through the windows of the restaurant at women in lovely dresses or ensembles and men in suits and ties, and he feels like he might as well be wearing his painting clothes in comparison.

Tugging at his cuffs, he tries to straighten the wrinkles out of his shirt that have come from the subway ride from his apartment. He can feel the new phone in his pocket, a lightweight reminder of why he’s here. He almost wants to just hand it over to the maître d’ at the door and take his leave, before Tony sees him and realises what a terrible mistake he’d made, asking Steve out to dinner.

Despite the voice in the back of his head that tells him should just turn around and leave before he embarrasses himself, he knows that he can’t do that. Even if he makes an absolute fool of himself by being out of place, by being so out of his depth that everyone else can see it, he isn’t about to run away from this. Partly because he’s always been too stubborn to back down from any challenge, and partly because he has had more than his share of dates where he’s been stood up or they were cut short, and he’d hate to do that to Tony.

He really doesn’t want to be that sort of person, even if going ahead with the date turns out to be a disaster. He’s got to try, at least, he thinks. Bucky will laugh at him and never let him live it down if he bails out on the date, and he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to look at the new phone ever again, let alone use its camera for his art project. Those thoughts in mind, he squares his shoulders and starts towards the front door of the restaurant.

The maître d’ barely even blinks at him when he says that he’s there for a reservation under Tony’s name, though he feels like he’s being judged all the same, from the buttons on his shirt all the way down to the laces on his shoes. He follows one of the servers between other chairs and tables to the back of the restaurant, then he’s suddenly standing there staring at Tony, who stands up from the table, smiling at him.

“Hey, there, cute stuff,” Tony greets him, stepping around the end of the table, gripping the hand that Steve offers, then leaning in to brush a kiss against his cheek. “I was starting to wondering if you were even coming.”

Sitting down at the other side of the table, Steve tries to stop himself from fidgeting, but he can’t stop himself glancing at his watch to check the time, sure that he isn’t late at all. There’s still five minutes before the time they agreed to. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. I thought you said seven.”

Tony grins at him, nodding his head towards the front of the restaurant and the floor to ceiling windows that look out onto the street. “You seemed to be having some sort of internal debate out there for a while.”

Feeling his cheeks heating up, Steve grinds his teeth together, trying to work out a way to get out of this conversation with his pride still intact. Around them, at other tables, other patrons keep throwing glances their way. “I was worried that I wasn’t dressed well enough. Didn’t think I’d make it through the front door.”

Tony’s smile falters momentarily. “Why would you think that? You look great.”

Steve doesn’t point out that he’s pretty sure Tony’s tie is pure silk, while his own shirt is more polyester than cotton. That Tony’s socks probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. He doesn’t doubt that everyone else in the restaurant is looking at him and thinking that he’s cheap. He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t believe Tony for a second. His best clothes don’t feel good enough for a place like this.

He winces a smile instead, glancing down at the table cloth and setting. “You too. You look great too.”

He really isn’t sure how much more awkward he can get. Surely, Tony can see how out of his depth he is.

“Thank you.”

When he glances up again, Tony’s smiling at him, something soft and sincere about it that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen in the media. It’s different from all the press photos and television footage that he’s seen over the years, and it makes him wonder if he’d been too quick to judge Tony before now.

Tony’s an ordinary human, just like him. He tries to keep that thought in mind as they make careful small talk, and he succeeds up until the waiter arrives with menus. One look at the prices has his stomach sinking, twisting and turning and making him feel like he’s never going to want to eat again. Even the cheapest item on the menu makes him realise that he’s worlds away from his comfort zone and that Tony exists in an entirely separate galaxy to himself.

“Steve?”

Wrenching his eyes away from the menu, he looks up across the table at Tony, finding him frowning at him in confusion and concern, and he wonders, briefly, if it wasn’t the first time that Tony tried talking to him.

“Everything okay, cute stuff?” Tony asks, the corner of his mouth pulling up, but it looks more like a worried grimace than a smile.

He means to smile and nod and tell a white lie, to then order the cheapest thing off the menu and probably shower at Bucky’s place for the next month so he can afford his water bill, but it seems his mouth has other ideas. “I can’t afford anything here.”

Tony blinks at him, expression blank, then he huffs out a chuckle, and it makes Steve’s face heat with shame. It’s one thing to admit he can’t afford the latest Stark Phone, but it’s another level of shame entirely to admit he can’t afford anything on the menu. To have Tony laugh at him on top of that just makes everything worse. He’s not sure where the shame ends and the anger begins, but he can feel his hands clench into fists around the tablecloth, and part of him takes satisfaction in the creases he will no doubt leave in the ostentatiously white cloth.

Tony’s eyes go wide, looking comically horrified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.”

He really isn’t sure if that makes any difference to how he feels. The doubting voice in the back of his head tells him to cut and run before the night turns into even more of a disaster. He imagines Tony going back to all his rich friends at the end of the night and laughing with them about the date he had with some poor fool who couldn’t even afford an appetiser.

“I really am sorry, cute stuff, that wasn’t me laughing at you.” Tony tries again, looking more and more worried by the second. “It was a nervous reaction, if anything. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

“Okay.” Drawing the word out, Steve can hear the question in his own voice, head spinning between confusion and leftover anger, not sure what Tony’s attempting to say, but starting to feel as though he’s telling the truth about not meaning to laugh.

“You looked like you were either about to punch me or run away.” Tony continues, leaning one elbow against the table, faux casual, though there are lines of tension on his face and through his shoulders. “I didn’t invite you here with any intention of making you pay.”

“Why, then?” The question is out before he can really think about it, having stewed so long in his mind.

Shrugging, Tony smiles sheepishly. “I thought maybe this place would impress you enough you’d consider a second date.”

“No, not why this place,” Steve corrects, because if this isn’t about paying Tony back for the phone, he isn’t sure what this is about. “Why’d you ask me to dinner at all? If I’m not paying, how’s this restitution for the phone?”

It isn’t until Tony goes carefully still that it becomes obvious how much he was moving before that. “You think this is about the phone?”

“Isn’t it?” Clenching his hands around the tablecloth again, Steve tries to stop himself squirming nervously in his chair. He isn’t sure what is going on any more.

“No.” Tony’s jaw clenches, glancing away from Steve for a moment before pulling his focus back. “The phone was just an excuse. I asked you to dinner because I wanted to.”

“Why?” No doubt he’s already made a big enough fool of himself that it doesn’t matter what he says any more, so it seems pointless to mince words and avoid the questions that he really wants answers to.

Tilting his head to one side, Tony gives him a look that is part baffled, part self-deprecating. “I don’t know if you’ve heard before, cute stuff, but I’m a shallow person who likes to surround himself with beautiful people.”

Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You stuffed up this time, then.”

Tony’s features pinch, and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it and shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t think this is working real well, is it?”

Feeling his heart sink, Steve nods, trying to keep his disappointment off his face. “Guess not.”

Pushing his chair back from the table, Tony stands up, offering his hand to Steve. “What do you say we blow this ice cream stand and find something better to do?”

Steve reaches out and takes Tony’s hand because it seems like the natural thing to do; he doesn’t have to think about it, he just does it, letting Tony tug him up from the table and lead him through the tables towards the door. An excuse, a blinding smile, and they’re spilling out onto the footpath, Tony stopping once they’re a few metres away, turning to look at Steve, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before relaxing his grip and letting go.

“Since my idea was pretty much bust, would you like to take charge of this date and suggest something else?” Tony asks, giving a cursory glance up and down the street, tucking his hands in his pockets, where they still fidget, even confined.

“It wasn’t a bad idea.” Steve reassures him, even though he know he doesn’t sound overly convinced himself. Being back out on the street makes him feel like he can breathe again, like he isn’t being scrutinised. “I was just worried they’d frisk me on the way out to make sure I hadn’t stolen the silverware.”

There’s silence for moment, then Tony barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners and smile spreading wide and real. “I think you forgot your domino mask, striped shirt, and loot bag. No one in there thought you were going to rob the place.”

Tucking his hands in to his pockets too, Steve shrugs, tilting his head to one side and looking up at Tony, giving him a humourless smirk. “Think you’re giving them too much benefit. Pretty sure the maître d’ was worried I’d get poly-cotton blend all over the place.”

Tony’s features sober, he looks like he’s going to argue for a moment, then he shakes his head, extracting one hand out of his pocket. Reaching out, he brushes his fingers against the collar of Steve’s shirt, ghosting over his skin as well. “Who cares what it’s made of? I think you look great.”

He can feel Tony’s fingers, the light touch of them against his skin, and he nearly stops breathing. A shiver tries to work its way up his spine, and he has to lock his shoulders to try and suppress it.

“The colour suits you. Really brings out your eyes. Makes them look real blue.” Smiling softly at him, Tony brushes his thumb against his throat. He blinks after a moment, then drops his hand away, taking a step back, looking rather sheepish. “Sorry about getting handsy.”

Steve has to swallow, trying to work saliva back into his dry mouth before he can speak. “It’s alright.”

Not looking convinced, Tony looks away from him, glancing down the street, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Trying to salvage the situations, and valiantly ignore the hot feeling crawling over his skin, Steve spits out the first thing he thinks of. “Bucky and Nat said the same thing. About the shirt.”

Glancing back at him, Tony raises an eyebrow. “So, three out of three, and you still don’t believe that you look great? You’re a tough nut. I see I’m going to have to up my game. Would Bucky and Nat lie to you?”

Shrugging, he takes a step along the footpath, heading in the direction of Central Park, only a short walk from the restaurant. Tony falls in step with him without question, obviously deciding that moving is better than just lingering on the footpath out front of the restaurant. “Nat, yes, but Bucky, probably not. He has no issues with telling me I look terrible.”

“Well, he’d be lying if he did,” Tony states, so matter of fact that it feels like there is no room to argue.

“Not now,” Steve replies, stopping at the pedestrian crossing to wait for the lights. “Other times, when I’ve been on an art binge.”

“Sounds familiar, if you swap out art with engineering. Pepper has more than once had to drag me out of the workshop and into the shower so I can look presentable for events that I may or may not have deliberately forgotten about.” Tony flashes him a grin, looking more pleased with himself than the admission seemed to warrant. “Though I think you’d still look great, even covered in paint.”

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Steve tries to ignore it, mind drawing a blank at a rebuttal that isn’t just denial. The lights change, giving him the chance to focus on crossing the road and not worrying about what to say.

“I also think you’d look great covered in _just_ paint.”

Steve nearly trips up the curb, whole body going hot at Tony’s words and the lascivious grin he gives him. Tony catches his arm before he can stumble too far, holding him up easily, and Steve has to try valiantly not to think about being naked, smeared in paint and getting manhandled by him. It’s not an easy feat.

Steadying him back to his feet, Tony’s hand slides down his arm, fingers brushing his hand, resting there like an invitation. “You alright there, cute stuff?”

His face is burning with embarrassment and something else brought on by the images in his head that he tries to ignore. “I’m fine.”

The words come out a little strangled, and Tony just smiles widely at him, like he knows exactly what is going on through his head. “I’m assuming that you aren’t bringing me to Central Park to murder me. Got any non-murdery ideas for how we should spend the evening?”

“Not one,” Steve admits, bumping his hand against Tony’s. “I’ve had no idea what I’m doing all evening.”

Nudging at Steve’s hand again, Tony’s little finger hooks around his. “Good, glad to hear I’m not the only one then. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’ve eaten since the launch after-party last night, so how about we go find something to eat?”

They find a food stand selling hotdogs, which, despite the vast difference between them and everything on the menu in the restaurant, Steve thinks Tony enjoys. Fed, they spend the rest of the evening wandering around one small section of Central Park. The longer they walk and the more Tony talks—his whole body animated when he speaks, so much more alive than he ever appears on camera—the more Steve starts to think that there is more to him than the media tells. Despite that, he’s not really sure where he fits into the picture, exactly what it is that Tony expects from the date.

All Steve’s dating experiences have been double dates that Bucky and Nat dragged him along to, or blind dates that his friends had similarly set up, all of which had practically ended before they began. For the first time ever, he feels like he’s the focus of someone’s attention and they aren’t disappointed, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. As much as he tries to relax, there’s the nagging voice in the back of his head that insists he should worry about where this is going, about what Tony really wants from him. When the night ends, hours later, his back and feet aching from walking, stomach and ribs aching from laughing, Tony offers to drive him home, adamant that it is not an inconvenience, and that he wants to, despite the distance.

Sitting in the passenger seat of a car that he’s sure is worth more than the entire apartment building he lives in, Steve isn’t sure what to expect, his mind telling him that the rest of the evening must be a precursor to sex. Not that he’s opposed to the idea of having sex with Tony, but he suspects that if he does, that’ll be the end of it.

Needless to say, he isn’t expecting it when Tony doesn’t make any moves to come up to his apartment with him, stopping on the footpath.

He hesitates when he knows he should ask Tony up, berating himself for not being more sure of wanting the night to end like that.

Smiling at him, Tony steps closer. “I had a good time this evening, Steve.”

“Me too,” he replies and knows that he means it. “Though I hope the restaurant isn’t going to hold it against you because we walked out.”

Laughing, Tony shakes his head. “I think we’re alright there. I’ll just keep in mind not to book anywhere like that again for our next date.”

He’s half sure that he didn’t hear right, but there’s something hesitant and hopeful in Tony’s expression that makes him think he must have. “Next date?”

Rocking on the balls of his feet, Tony tucks his hands in his pockets, like he’s trying to look casual. “Well, I was hoping I made a good enough impression that you might consider another one. But no pressure. I know I put you on the spot a bit with the invite yesterday, but I had a good time tonight, and I was hoping—”

“Me too.” Steve blurts the words out, feeling rude for interrupting. “I had a good time too.”

Falling still, a smile slowly creeps onto Tony’s face, growing wider and more bright the longer it goes unchallenged. “Good enough a time to agree to another date?”

Not trusting himself not to say something stupid, Steve just nods in response, smiling in response to Tony’s.

“Great!” Tony grins at him, and huffs out a breath than sounds a little like a sigh of relief. “I guess I’ll call you, or text you, or you call me, whatever works, and we can work something out.”

Stepping closer, Tony leans down and brushes his lips against Steve’s cheek. “Until next time, cute stuff.”

As he makes his way back into his apartment, Steve thinks that to say he’s baffled by the events of the night is a complete understatement. It doesn’t stop him from looking forward to the next date, though.

  


+++

  


Over the next few weeks, Steve feels like he’s taken over someone else’s life entirely, someone who gets late night phone calls from Tony Stark and inevitably falls asleep part way through conversations, only to wake up to find text messages wishing him sweet dreams. Someone who gets flowers delivered to his apartment, with cards in them saying _from, you know who I am._ Flowers which he has to hand off to his neighbour Peggy and her niece, Sharon, when the pollen makes his nose stuffy and his eyes water. It’s the thought that counts, though, so he can’t bring himself to tell Tony to stop.

They go on a second date, to a baseball game, after Steve mentions one night that he likes the sport. They sit in the stands surrounded by other fans, Tony wearing a cap and sunglasses, casual clothes that Steve still suspects cost more than most people’s idea of casual clothes would, and no one really pays them any mind for most of the date.

It’s only when people in his art classes start giving him odd looks, whispering between themselves, that Steve starts to suspect that something is going on. His suspicions are confirmed when Bucky and Nat arrive at his apartment that night and Bucky drops a tabloid magazine into his lap. Splashed across the middle of the glossy cover is a grainy photo of Tony and him from after the baseball game, under a heading proclaiming that he’s Tony’s _new mystery man_.

He doesn’t bother reading the article, just throws the magazine in the bin when Bucky tells him that they throw around words like _boy toy, twink,_ and _gold digger_ , seething while he recaps the article. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter what the media say about him, that he should have expected that this would happen when he went out in public with Tony. The next day, mobile phone video footage of Tony asking him out at the phone launch is at the top of the news feed on his phone, the article going along with it wondering who he is, statements from the people who took the video saying that they don’t know what is so special about him. So-called journalists and public comments alike judge him for his appearance, wondering what it is about him that Tony finds so attractive.

He tries his best to ignore it all. Bucky seethes and scowls and threatens to set Natasha on the media, which is a scary thought and one that Steve has to dissuade  He’s spent his whole life having people judging him for various reasons, so it’s nothing new; it’s just more mainstream.

Tony doesn’t mention it, and Steve isn’t sure if that’s because he has been too busy to notice it, or has spent his whole life being in the media and he doesn’t care anymore. Maybe he feels that it isn’t worth bringing up if Steve doesn’t, and he’s happy not to. Even though it hurts a little when the next headline he sees proclaims that Tony is cheating on his long time partner, Pepper, with Steve. He knows it isn’t true, because Tony’s talked about Pepper extensively, as his friend and his rock, but never as his girlfriend. What upsets him most about the headline is that anyone would accuse Tony of cheating. Just because he has the reputation of a playboy doesn’t mean he’s a cheater.

It goes from Steve feeling like he’s borrowing someone else’s life to feeling like everyone has stolen his, after he and Tony come out of the movie theatre on their third date and there’s a camera suddenly shoved in his face.

It’s so sudden and more invasive than anything thus far that he can’t even think of how to act, just staring at the camera and the man wielding it as Tony tries to shield him from it, while also manoeuvring them back towards the car. Tony’s driver, Happy, is suddenly there, muscling his way in between them and the camera, the growing crowd of onlookers armed with mobile phones.

They’re almost in the car when the man with the camera calls out. “What does it feel like to be Tony Stark’s worst kept dirty little secret?”

It’s the tipping point for Steve, he thinks. He’d been able to ignore everything else except this. It’s the look of panic and hurt on Tony’s face that pushes him over the edge. He whirls around, fists clenched, jaws clenched, and it’s only Happy’s hand on his chest, pushing him into the car that stops him from shoving the paparazzo’s camera into his own face and breaking something.

Happy and Tony bundle him into the car, shutting the door before he can sort out the jumble of angry words in his head.

Tony pries his fingers loose and takes his hand, squeezing it gently, as Happy gets in the driver’s seat and pulls away from the curb. “I know sometimes it seems impossible, Steve, but you really should try and ignore them. They only say things like that to get a rise out of you. They want you to react.”

Glaring out the window, he tries to push the anger away. “How am I supposed to just ignore them when they’re saying bullshit about you?”

“About me? Jeez, Steve.” Something wavers a little in Tony’s voice, and he lets out a humourless chuckle. “You don’t need to defend my honour, dear, I have none left, and besides I have a team of lawyers that fight my battles for me.”

Looking over at Tony, Steve wants to argue, he can see how tired Tony looks, how worn thin, and while he knows that Tony’s been busy with work, he can’t help but think that all the added media attention because of him probably isn’t helping. He wonders how long it’ll be before Tony realises that it isn’t worth the added stress and he stops messaging Steve back. Stops calling him late at night. Stops asking him on dates. He isn’t worth the trouble, he knows that. The tabloids have been having a ball, of late, running photos of all Tony’s past dates and conquests, all beautiful women and handsome men, and he knows he doesn’t compare.

  


+++

  


When Tony calls and suggests that instead of going out again, maybe Steve can come over to his place instead for the evening, he’s sure that this is it. The voice in the back of his mind, full of doubt and self loathing, tells him that it’s finally come to the point where Tony’s sick of playing the long game, that he’s sick of waiting and doting. That now he wants sex; it isn’t as though Steve doesn’t, that he hasn’t thought about Tony like that, it’s just that he dreads what is going to happen after that. Once they’ve had sex, there’s nothing left that Steve has to offer. He knows that. The whole tabloid reading world knows that by this point.

It’s inevitable though, that Tony will realise he isn’t worth the effort, the stress and added media scrutiny.

He turns down the offer for Happy to come pick him up because as much as he likes the man, he doesn’t really want to suffer through a car ride being sure that Happy knows as well as he does that this is the end. He takes the train instead, ending up only a couple of blocks away from Stark Tower. He’s so caught up in his own head, thoughts churning and twisting his stomach in knots, that he doesn’t notice the people who are lingering out in front of the tower, rather than just passing by like all the other foot traffic.

Too late, he notices them, only realising who they are when flashes start going off and video cameras are shoved in his face. They stand between him and the door, all clamouring and calling out questions, each voice raising louder to try to be heard. He can’t understand what any of them are saying, his ears ringing from all the noise and half-deaf anyway. It makes taking Tony’s advice easier, if he can’t understand them he can’t retaliate, so he squares his shoulders, and tries to walk straight past them.

It’s a mistake, because suddenly they’re all around him and he can’t get any closer to the front door or retreat at all. Between the occasional gap in paparazzi he can see the security guards at the front door, one of them talking into a radio microphone, and the other approaching to try and disperse the crowd.

Then he sees Happy and Tony running through the lobby of the tower and out onto the footpath. He can hear Happy telling people to move, and Tony’s hand breaks through the crowd towards him. He takes it, lets himself be pulled through the paparazzi, stumbling and colliding with Tony’s chest before he can regain his balance. Taking a step back he mumbles an apology, not sure if he’s apologising for bumping into Tony or for the scene that he’s caused.

Tony gives him a tight smile, squeezing his hand. “Hey there, cute stuff, looked like you needed a rescue. Now, just ignore them and let’s get you inside.”

Happy and the two security guards hold the crowd back, giving them a clear run to the door. They’re almost there when one voice calls out, clearer than the rest of the noise.

“How long before you get sick of this one, Stark?”

Steve feels the question like a sucker punch. It makes him ache right through, every thing he’d been worrying about wrapped up in one question. He tries to swallow it all down, to take Tony’s advise and not react, but Tony stops in his tracks, turning to look at him, and he knows that he hasn’t kept his emotions off his face when Tony’s jaw clenches and his eyes go hard.

Still gripping Steve’s hand, Tony turns back towards the crowd. “You know, I was hoping to avoid this, I really was. One night, that’s all I wanted, without you jokers shoving your noses and cameras where they don’t belong. Can’t we just get one night of peace? But to answer your question, I very much doubt I’ll ever get sick of Steve. It would be nice though, to have the time to find out for myself, but chances are, you’ll all chase him off long before I ever get sick of him. Not that I will. Feel free to quote me on that. Now excuse us, because I promised Steve a night of privacy, without his photo getting splashed all over the tabloids, so I’m going to try and salvage that as much as I can.”

Turning away from the paparazzi, Tony stalks back into the tower, still gripping Steve’s hand, giving him little choice to do anything but follow. It isn’t until they’re inside the elevator, doors closed, shutting them off from the rest of the world that Tony relaxes a fraction, letting go of Steve’s hand to rub at his face.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, then sucks in a breath, holds it for a moment before letting it out noisily. “I tried calling you, to let you know the media circus was out the front and that you should come around to the back. Hap and I were waiting there for you. You didn’t answer though. Or any of my texts.”

Still reeling from the ordeal outside, Tony’s words echoing in his head, Steve takes the distraction offered, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check why he didn’t notice the calls or messages, only to find that instead of the sleek new phone Tony gave him, he’s holding his banged up old Mark I, still connected to his old number.

Tony huffs out a humourless laugh as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open. “Guess that solves that mystery.”

Following Tony out of the elevator, he comes to an abrupt stop to stare around the apartment that they’ve stepped into. The space is huge, modern and sleek, open planned, the kitchen, dining room and lounge all flowing together. It’s a beautiful space, bordered by floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city, streetlights like stars below them.

Tony walks over to a bar on one side of the room. “Do you want something to drink?”

Pulling his gaze away from the windows, Steve means to reply, but when he opens his mouth, it’s the other thought pinging around in his head that comes out. “What happened to just ignoring them?”

Tony stops sifting through the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, turning to look at him. “I’ve never been great at taking my own advice.”

“Did you mean it?” He can’t stop the question spilling out, Tony’s words still echoing in his head, and he has to know. Has to know if Tony meant it when he said he wasn’t going to get sick of him. Has to know that maybe whatever it is they have might last longer than he thought it ever could.

Moving out from behind the bar, Tony crosses the room until he’s in Steve’s space, reaching out to cup his face in his hands, thumbs stroking over his cheeks. “You have no idea how much I meant it, Steve. I know how the media makes me look, and I know that asking you to be a part of my life, where every little thing you do and say is going to be scrutinised, is a lot. If you don’t want to be a part of that at all, I understand, it’s not exactly a fun lifestyle. But if you want to give it a shot, take a chance on me, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

The knot in his stomach loosens, turning into a thousand butterflies, eyes and throat burning as his chest tightens. Tony sounds so sincere that he wants to believe him. He really does, but he doesn’t understand him. “Why?”

Tony’s eyes go sad, the smile he gives Steve matches. “You have to ask? You don’t see how great you are, do you?”

Dropping his phone back into his pocket he reaches up, closing his hands around Tony’s wrists, because more than anything he doesn’t want him to pull away. “I’m not that great.”

“Yes, you are,” Tony whispers, voice sincere. “I think you are, even if you don’t. I think you’re great. You’re such a good person, Steve, you’re so caring, genuine and honest, and you have no idea how rare those qualities are in my world. You make me want to be a better person. You make me happy, you make me want to make you happy, for as long as you’ll let me. I am so gone for you, Steve Rogers. Think I was from day one. I just hope that you can believe me, and not everything the media says.”

Tightening his hold on Tony’s wrists, he tries to process everything he’s just heard. He’s not sure he believes the things Tony’s saying about him, but he knows that Tony believes them, and that’s really what matters. “Tabloids are full of bullshit anyway.”

Tony barks out a short laugh, his eyes brightening. “That they are. Unfortunately though, they insist on picking apart my life. I’ll understand if you don’t want to be a part of it.”

“I don’t like the media nonsense,” he replies, telling the truth, even though he knows that it’s going to hurt. He can see the pain already creeping into Tony’s eyes, so he tightens his hold on his wrists and powers on. “But it’s exactly that. Nonsense. I’ve spent my whole life not listening to what people say about me. I can keep doing that. I was just worried that all the extra attention and stress wouldn’t be worth it, for you. You wouldn’t think I was worth all this bullshit.”

Relief floods Tony’s features, he leans closer, pressing his lips to Steve’s forehead, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. “You are so worth it. Like I said, so gone for you. From day one.”

Moving his hands to grip at Tony’s shirt instead, he tilts his head to tuck his face against his neck. “Me too. I’m kinda gone for you too.”

  



End file.
